Bucket List? Get a KLU!

I'll get to the meaning of the title in a moment, but first a little update on the composing situation.  July, I failed to complete a song for the month.  First month that it happened, and I'm in danger of the same happening in August.  My original plan was to assign myself a "penalty song," so in addition to one each month for the rest of the year and finishing the July song, I had to compose one more from scratch.   Problem is, I've been apparently sapped of any inspiration this month, and when I have it, I'm nowhere near a computer, paper or writing implement.  Maybe I'm supposed to learn something from this, but so far I have no idea what.  I found out two days after my 40th birthday that I was a huge inspiration to someone who is really into music now and has gotten into Berkeley School of Music.  There's a major high that comes from that, but I also wish I could find a way to inspire myself again.  OK, that's all the negativity for this entry.

So I mentioned turning 40, which happened this past weekend.  I spent most of age 39 feeling old, underaccomplished, past the prime I never had professionally or physically, and just the general kind of lost feeling that one normally associates with someone half my age who's "finding himself."  Still, I was determined to enjoy the weekend and be positive.  It was a great weekend, seeing family again, eating some great food (including a grilled breakfast I cobbled together from various food blogs), lots of swimming and of course, music!  I came out of it refreshed and honestly feeling younger than I have in a long time.  I went into yesterday feeling a high that was increased by knowing I've had an influence on the next generation of music.  My head was overflowing with inspiration...until I got home from work filled with song ideas and blog ideas, but lost them in the process of looking for the laptop.  I passed out from exhaustion and woke up feeling somewhat defeated, but this is not where I'll be forever.  This is only a feeling that will be overcome by time and dedication to my creative endeavors.

That said, back to the title.  I've often heard of people having a list of things to do before they die or "kick the bucket," eventually being shortened to "bucket list."  I like the idea of having a definite list of things to accomplish, experience, enjoy or whatever in one's lifetime, but the term "bucket list" just seems so morbid and somewhat stressful.  It's like you're racing against the clock with death running up behind you, ever so slowly gaining ground, occupying your thoughts so you can't truly enjoy the things on your "bucket list."  I have, for a long time, wanted to come up with a more positive, life affirming term for such a list.  On the way home Sunday, it occurred to me.  Rather than a mad dash to do things before kicking the bucket, the focus should be on knowing there is always a reason, often many reasons, to keep living.  Think of it as being at an amusement park, and knowing you're not leaving until you get to go on certain rides.  So it is with life; we're not leaving until certain things are done.  I call it the "keep living until" or "KLU" list.

If you're interested in knowing a few of the things on my KLU list (still in progress), I'll be happy to share a few, along with the reasons why.  If not, well, don't bother reading the rest of this, because that's where the main focus is going to be.  I don't have a particular order of importance, but more of an "as they come to me" randomness:

1) Go on a missionary trip.  As a Catholic, I can say most religions are kicking our butts in this area, and it shows.  If the trend continues unchecked, my grandchildren yet unborn will see Latin America have more Protestants or even atheists than Catholics.

2) Go on a honeymoon.  When Judy and I were married, we didn't go away anywhere.  Having married in February, and with her being a teacher, we couldn't take a whole week.  She was pregnant by springtime, and with morning all day sickness lasting all summer, I was not about to subject her to travel anywhere.  We've just been too busy since then, and are hoping maybe ten year anniversary if someone will watch the littles for a week.  Next year is seven years, so we have some time to plan.

3) Take a dance class.  I've done theatre, been in a band, and I really think dance would help me overcome a lot of my severe lack of coordination and stage presence, not to mention build strength and endurance.  In addition to that, literally all but my two youngest (5 & 3) have taken something, including Judy and my brother Joe.  I kinda feel like the illiterate guy whenever there's a recital of any sort, or the guy who has little more to say than, "Hey!  That was good!"  I'd like to have a little more to offer to the conversation.

4) Take a few intensive theatre classes.  Again, the whole stage presence thing.  I have no time for acting now, but I definitely plan to get back onstage one day.  I want to be at my best when the time comes.  I also had to miss a trip with the International Thespian Society after high school graduation, and summer theatre was cancelled the one year I had planned to do it.  Always better late than never.  I might make an actor out of myself yet.

5) Record and stage a musical.  I have one I've written, as well as a few other ideas to develop.  I ache to hear voices other than my own singing the songs and see them onstage performing my works.  I want nothing to do with the directing, though.  Maybe meet with someone, discuss over coffee, and let him or her have a crack at it.

6) Plan an event by myself.  In my four decades ex utero, I have never done the planning for anything.  I've occasionally contributed an idea or two, but never really thought it all through.  When I think of the things people I love have put together for other people I love, that doesn't seem fair.  It also seems lazy and a little behind the curve for someone my age, so I need to put something together.  Even if it's just a bunch of people getting together in the city and figuring out times, places, what's going on that day, I really think it's time I did that.  To my LI and NJ fellas, all day guys' day in the city?  Who's up for it?  I haven't had some good male bonding in a while!  If I can't get that done, even a "getting out there myself just because I want to" day would be cool.

7) A Christmas album.  Yep, I need to do one.  I wrote two original Christmas songs last December, and Judy is one of those full of Christmas spirit all year type people.  Plus, the Christmas season needs some quality contributions from artists who aren't dead or senile yet, and there honestly hasn't been much of that.  I figure a few more originals and some good covers and I have the potential to be pigeonholed like Johnny Mathis, who once said in an interview that he could be doing a show in the middle of July, and people would want to hear the Christmas songs.

8) Learn classical guitar.  I may be a classically trained vocalist, but on guitar, I know one classical piece, and I don't remember the name or the composer.  I'm more prog rock mixed with folk mixed with  what I call "faux classical" style.  I'd like to learn more genuine classical and incorporate that into my overall technique.

9) Get something legalized somewhere.  In the "Garden" State, or at least in my town of South Plainfield, you can't grow vegetables in your front yard.  You also can't buy raw milk anywhere in this state.  Medicinal weed is legal, but growing its distant cousin hemp, which can be made into granola, protein powder, rope, clothing, yarn, soap, fuel, etc is not.  Yet we can import it from Canada and China?  There's a lot of crap government at all levels has no business telling us we can't do, so it should be easy to find something, somewhere I can help push to make us a little more free.

10) Bench press my weight.  Hard to work toward as I have no bench, no barbells, and no budget for those two (freecycle perhaps), but it's one of those benchmarks (forgive the pun) of strength that, at an age where many men are declining, I'd like to prove I can reach.  The day that I step on the scale, see my weight, and get on the bench and press that same amount or more will be a proud day for me.

Rednecks and Yankees

This is way later than I had wanted to share this story, being almost a month after my family vacation, but better late than never.  It all began one July morning, when a family from New Jersey, with a Dad who had lived in New York for 30 years, pulled into a gas station in North Carolina before making the first leg of the trip home.

We had just finished having a wonderful week celebrating Judy's parents 50th anniversary with all her siblings and their respective families.  It was fun and very busy.  Since most of our time was spent at the house where we were staying, we didn't get to interact too much with the locals, but when we did, they were some of the most pleasant people, just super cheerful.  I started to understand the phrase, "southern hospitality," as all the people I met were genuinely hospitable and pleasant.  That is except for one, which brings me back to the gas station.

The van was gassed up and ready to go, when a man in a Yankees shirt approached.  Figuring he saw the Jersey plates and wanted to talk to a fellow Tri-State area guy, I chatted with him for a bit.  He had moved from New York a number of years ago.  Unfortunately, he spent half the time complaining about all the rednecks down there.  Talk about an an all around grumpy, unpleasant person, who, while complaining about one stereotype, lived up to another...the snooty, damn Yankee!

I had put any thought of Snooty Yankee behind me about five seconds after driving out of the gas station and getting back on the road.  We drove through North Carolina with little to no traffic and on into Virginia, where we were spending the night before resuming our trip home the next day.  It was to have been about a five or six hour drive, but that changed when the van started overheating.  I pulled over and checked under the hood, and even with my limited automotive knowledge, I could see the coolant was not only low, but empty.  I let the van cool off a bit before trying to drive again, finally making it to another station and getting more coolant.  After again letting the van cool off and topping off the coolant, we started back up again, lasting about ten minutes before the temperature shot up again.  I so didn't need that...or maybe I did.

I pulled the van over again, checked, and the coolant was once again empty.  While I was attempting to figure out what was wrong, a car with Virginia plates (we were in Virginia after all) pulled up in front of us.  A very friendly gentleman with a pronounced drawl who introduced himself as Ronny asked us if everything was okay.  I explained what happened, and without missing a beat he offered to take a look and see what was going on.  As he checked under the van, I looked down and noticed on his belt a HUGE buckle with the word "REDNECK" on it in big letters.  After he got out from under the van, he told me he couldn't see any leaking in the front, but he knew the owner of a nearby auto shop who could help us out.  He led the way, while we slowly followed, and let the people there know to take good care of us.

Ronny Redneck left, and the repairmen, who were also some of the friendliest people you could ever hope to meet, got to work.  After a while, they diagnosed the problem, a metal pipe or tube or whatever you call it (I know they used the correct terminology at the time) leading to the back of the van that had rusted and broken.  The pipe carried, of all things, coolant, and that part would have taken a week to come in if we had them order it.  When the pipe broke, the coolant completely poured out.  Knowing we didn't have a week to wait around for a part, they offered a temporary solution, taking some tubing and clamping it on, which would prevent the coolant from leaking.  Because it wouldn't run all the way to the back of the van, we wouldn't be able to run the heat in the back, but it being early July, we were pretty sure we weren't going to need the heat for a few months at least.  It got us back on the road and for a lot less than what was originally going through my head when the van first began overheating.

What was supposed to be a five or six hour drive turned into eleven hours, but the wonderful people we met helped us not only get to where we were going, but also helped us keep our wits about us in a very stressful situation.  I found myself looking back on the day and comparing in my head between Snooty Yankee and Redneck Ronny and his buddies, and I knew which one I'd rather have around in a pinch.

To my northern friends, this is not intended as a swipe against you.  In my years in New York and New Jersey, I have met some wonderful people, and I would not trade them for the world.  In addition, you will always have better pizza than the south, especially in New York.  That's just a fact.  But the conclusion I came to after my experience was that the world would be a much better place if we had more rednecks in it.  Thanks for readin', and y'all come back now, ya hear?

A Little Bit of Gas

I was thinking this weekend of a story, or really two that fit together really well, that happened to me years ago, and that in some ways could be a metaphor for how we should live in relation to one another in this world.  At the risk of the inevitable giggles from the title overpowering a moving story, I give you, "A Little Bit of Gas."

Years ago, when I was in the life insurance industry, I had hit a very slow point in my sales.  I still needed to put gas in my car, but I still had some time before pay day, and the gas was needed right then and there.  At the gas station, I was counting out change to try to get enough together for at least a half tank.  A gentleman (in the truest sense of the word) had stopped in to get a paper and a snack as well as some gas for himself, when he saw me counting coins.  "Getting change together for gas?  I've been there myself," he said with true understanding in his voice.  He put down money, I had thought just to pay for his stuff, and left without saying much more.  I was too caught up in how low I was feeling emotionally and financially to notice the money he left included a few dollars for me to be able to get a little more.  When the guy behind the counter pointed that out, I felt ashamed that in feeling sorry for myself, I had missed the good deed the man had done and hadn't thanked him.  As I pumped my gas, I felt reassured things would get better, but still felt a horrible guilt for not acknowledging a good deed done to me.  I promised if I ever ran across someone in the same situation, I would do the same.

Fast forward a few years, with me married and living in New Jersey.  I had just dropped my stepdaughter off at work, and pulling out of the parking lot I saw a car right by the exit stopped with its hazard lights on.  I asked the driver if he was okay.  He said yes, but that he had run out of gas before he was able to make it to the nearest station.  I told him I lived right nearby, and that I had a gas can at home and could go get him some.  I rushed in the door and told Judy I needed to grab the gas can to go keep a promise and gave her the Reader's Digest version of the Cliff Notes of the story.  She smiled in that understanding way I've seen so many times.

I knew there was a gas station in the Watchung circle, so I headed there and filled up the can.  After heading back and seeing the man was still there, I gave him the can, as he seemed to know more about handling the newfangled spouts (and I hear they've gotten even worse) than I did.  After the can was empty, he gave it back and thanked me and was about to offer me money for it.  I shared with him that when I was out of gas, someone helped me out, and I was now doing the same thing, but if he felt the need to do something for me he could remember me in his prayers that night.  I also urged him, if he ever found someone in the same situation, to do the same thing.

Sometimes in life we feel like our tank is empty, and we don't know how we're ever going to fill it up again, or even get just that little bit to keep on going.  Sometimes in that situation, the slightest kind gesture by another person - a talk, a shoulder to cry on, a hug, or sometimes a literal couple gallons of gas - can fuel us and give us that little bit we need to go the extra mile and at least get where we need to go to fill the tank.  When I helped that man, I wasn't the gas station itself, but I brought a little of that gas to him to get to the pump.  In the same way, while we're not God, the little things we do can bring a little bit of God's infinite love to others, just enough to keep them going on the journey to Him.  So the next time you see someone who appears to be running on empty, remember to put a little gas in your neighbor's tank.

Body Hatred: The Skinny Man's Perspective

I recently read a blog entry that, while it highlighted the body hatred that is practically imposed on women at birth through the never ending quest to be thin, struck a chord with me as a male.  The article was entitled, "Passing On Body Hatred."  Read that first, and then I'll be happy to give you the male perspective.  I know from experience that body hatred is not just for women, and it's not just for people who think they're fat.

I can't really say my body hatred was really inherited.  My Dad was a West Point graduate, and even though I was about three or four when he got out of the Army, I always saw him as the athletic type, despite back issues that resulted in two surgeries before he was my current age.  If he ever thought he was too skinny, he never said it around me.  My Mom, even after gaining some weight after a two year attempt at quitting smoking, was referred to by my friends, and I quote, as a "skinny little thing."  She spent almost twenty years wishing to lose the pounds from that time, and if she were any other woman in the world, I'd have told her to shut up.  But you don't do that to Mom.

Nevertheless, I was always the skinny kid growing up.  The teen years in particular were hell on earth for me.  While other boys started getting muscle, I got...picked on.  I learned to hate the word skinny with the deepest of passions, and I learned to hate skinniness just as much.  There was no greater curse than to be skinny.  To make things worse, I apparently looked skinnier than I was.  I was always the skinny kid.  And with skinny also came weak.  My strength was always below average for my age, compounded by the fact that due to my weakness, I was embarrassed to work out in front of others, which kept me weak.

Mom tried in various ways to comfort me.  "When you're older you'll wish you still had the metabolism you have now," was a common one.  There have been a lot of things I've grown up and thought, "Gee, Mom was right on that one," but decades later I have not once wished for the metabolism I had as a teen.  I always remembered Papa (my Mom's Dad) being pretty built, and one of the other attempts at reassurance was reminding me a lot of my looks came from her side of the family.  Papa was not always the strapping man I remembered.  A picture I saw of him from when he was in his early 20s gave me hope back then.  I'm talking twig to tank transformation, and I thought I'd be blessed with that too.  Wrong again.

My 20s didn't help much.  In college, I'll never forget, and perhaps have just begun to forgive, the number of women who would say how lucky I was to be so thin.  They went on to say how they wished they were built more like me.  Well gee, that just makes a guy feel all manly and attractive to hear that from a woman, doesn't it?  By my mid 20s, I actually started trying to do something about it, first by working out with my friend Joe.  He was the first person I ever felt comfortable working out with in my life.  He was trying to drop weight, and I was desperately trying to pack it on, and never once were we judgmental of one another, but encouraged each other.  That, coupled with what I will now admit was a period of force feeding myself, finally got me to squeak past 160 lbs on my 6'1" frame.  Thanks for the encouragement and letting me use your weights, Joe, and RIP (though you still deserve a good, solid punch for how you left this world).

When Joe moved, my friend Greg had gotten certified as a personal trainer.  I asked if he'd be interested in taking me on, but under one condition.  He was not to treat me as a friend when we worked together.  He was to do whatever it took to get me bigger and stronger, and he would put me through the ringer when we trained.  I wasn't gaining weight or getting bigger, but I was getting chiseled and certainly stronger...until our schedules changed.  I didn't have the discipline to work out regularly on my own, and I lost a lot of that progress, but I always had a dream of what my body could be.

Years passed, and I still rejoiced in every ounce gained. My top weight ever was about 185, though I have to admit I wasn't eating right at the time.  I was in the life insurance business and doing a lot of eating on the go, which usually meant fast food.  I was probably unhealthy, but was liking how I looked, because I didn't see myself as skinny anymore.  In my married years, I've generally hovered around 165, and usually hated what I've seen in the mirror.

Working on a freight team at night and doing some body weight exercises (push ups, pull ups, etc), I've put a little muscle on, but would still be delighted to see another 2-3" on my arms and maybe the same on my legs.  Functionally, I'd like to be one of those guys who could bench his weight and leg press 2.5 times his weight.  My biggest fear about my body is that I'm too late to do that at my age.  I practically had a panic attack over a friend's Facebook status.  He talked about how there comes a time when workouts go from trying to get bigger, stronger and more flexible to trying to avoid becoming weaker, smaller and less flexible.  I didn't have the guts to ask him at what age that occurs, and if I'm not there yet, find out what I can do to get there.  Not even sure of his age, but I think he's older than I am.  I hope he is.  This week at the doctor's office, I rejoiced over having gained 9 lbs, putting me at 176, and without really adding to my gut.  That joy was compounded when my stepson, upon hearing hearing me go on and on about my gain, asked me to flex and said he could see a difference.  I'm on a bit of a high since then, but I know it's a shaky one based on my body being a little less worthy of my disdain.  Real progress requires more than that, and it started by me actually admitting in therapy the exact four words, "I hate my body."  My heart and mind have felt raw since last Saturday when that came out.  In a way, I'm afraid to let go of that because I'm afraid it will mean I have to give up trying to accomplish size and strength goals for myself and accept that there are limits to what I can do.  But I also know it's necessary.  I have a five year old and a three year old, who will learn what I live.  If I live hating my body, telling myself I'm not man enough, they'll eventually believe it about themselves.

This is a bit of a dark topic, and one that is very difficult to talk about, but I needed to, for myself and other body hating men out there.  Nonetheless, I want to end on a positive note with some pointers and a little humor to help out boys and grown men on the muscularly deprived end of the spectrum:

1) If you wouldn't call a woman fat, don't call a man skinny.  Also, if you wouldn't tell a woman to lose a few pounds, don't tell a man he needs to put some meat on his bones unless you're planning on whipping him up a protein shake right away.  We skinnies know who we are, and we don't need you to remind us.  If you're not here to help, shut up!

2) Scrawny is a pretty crappy choice of words too, even worse than skinny.  If you can't talk about our build without the words skinny or scrawny, shut up!

3) If your son is frustrated about being too skinny, don't dismiss it by telling him how lucky he is.  If you're a woman, use some common sense.  Would you want to hear a guy say he wishes his legs were as thick as yours?  It may seem like a compliment, but it's pretty emasculating for a guy to hear he has the ideal body...for a woman!

4) Moms and Dads, feel free to encourage age appropriate exercise and make some dietary suggestions, but always do it in a healthy manner.  Leave the specifics to coaches or drill instructors.

5) Stupid questions to avoid include, "Do you ever eat?" or, "Do you even weigh enough to give blood?"  The former was usually one I was asked after seconds, while the latter was one I was actually asked when I was 45 lbs over the minimum donation weight.  Trust me, we know better than you ever will what we weigh, and don't want to hear we look like we weigh less than we already do.  And for the question about eating, see rule 1).

Like thinking one is fat and equating fat with ugly, there is just as much body hatred among the muscularly challenged.  It's easy to say, "Just accept yourself," and think that's enough, but thought processes developed over the course of decades are difficult to shed.  I can say, for the sake of my boys, I will try to think more positively.  I won't give up trying to build more strength, even if I'm past the age where conventional wisdom says I can, but I'll try to find ways to look at it as working toward a positive, not running away from a negative.  If my kids see me at least making the effort to think positively, maybe they'll know I'm not there yet, but start working on it sooner.

God gave me a body, not that flesh may glory in His sight, but not to hate it either, but as a tool to do accomplish good works through His grace.  He expects me to work with it and not be lazy with it, but He will also give me the strength I need in the moment.  Intellectually, I know it's true, but like those in the Gospel who believed yet knew their faith was weak, I say, "Lord, I believe, increase my faith."  This is just one more example in my life where faith is very different from feelings.  Though I admit I really don't feel this way most of the time, as Psalm 139:14 says, "I praise You, Lord, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made."  And to all heights, weights, skin colors, eye colors, hair colors, builds, you too are fearfully and wonderfully made, and your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit.  Let's all start taking care of our temples.  God Bless!

Truly Last Minute

March, wow!  I had forgotten I made some of those other resolutions.  Still, I got a song done for the month, finished March 31, but during the day, so it wasn't that bad.  It's called "Dear Mother," and really digs down into my heart and shares about my relationship with my Mom, who will celebrate her tenth anniversary of passing into eternal life this October, Holy Mother Church, and the Blessed Mother Mary.  It also taps into the softer side of progressive music, being a piano/voice only song, yet in 7/8 time.  I'm rather proud of that.

I didn't start a blog about cooking, although if I did, I'd have a recipe to share, thanks to a recipe I whipped up for dinner last night (still tonight if you're in the later US time zones).  Hopefully soon.

While I found some leg and arm exercises, I also don't quite have the whole routine down.  But, I have my arm measurements and know where I want to go with that.  I have no idea how long it will take to get there, but I have where I am and the goal.  And no, I'm not ready to go public with that.  I might when I've expanded my arms a bit more and can say, "Can you believe my arm circumference used to be x, but now it's y?"  Didn't do my leg measurements yet.  Push ups, I think I burned out and hit a plateau.  Respiratory issues didn't help either - allergies, sinus/throat infection, etc.  I've been stuck at 50 push ups and having to break it up into two sets of 25.

Now for my April song.  Yet another deep, contemplative one, I call it "Tentative Sage."  It's all about a man called to speak out on something, and he believes in the message, but not himself.  At first it holds him back, but as his courage grows, he finds placing the message above himself keeps him humble and helps him persevere in spreading the word.  So, being after midnight EDT, it is May 1, and I left for work at not having finished the lyrics for the last verse.  I get out at midnight, so I left certain I had failed in that all important songwriting resolution.  In the last half hour, I jotted down little things as I could, hoping to squeeze out that last song.  It was getting late, and I couldn't just not work, as that would result in a little something called getting fired.  As I scribbled the last line, the last word out, I checked the time, and it read 11:59 pm!  I had made it!  Having ADHD and mild obsessive compulsive tendencies, the nerves and the sheer fascination with how I had beaten time combined to give me a massive adrenaline rush.  This, along with the feeling that after almost failing this resolution, I just have to write at least one line of whatever my May song turns out to be.

May resolutions aside from a song?  Get back to regular blogging.  Both my personal blogs and my contributions to the Tenth Amendment Center have been nonexistent for the past month.  I need to change that.  May will also be an organization month.  We're dealing with more clutter than we'd like, and I want to make sure the living area and kitchen stay at an acceptable maintenance level, then go on the anti-clutter attack in another room.  If I take care of one room 2-3 times a week, things will look great.

That said, good night, God Bless, and I'm off to write a song line or two and then get to bed.

Man February Goes Fast

Well, it's now March, and I didn't do so well with my February resolutions.  Still, it wasn't a total loss.  To do a quick rundown, I brewed, didn't finish the book, got another song written (not the one I originally thought it would be), completely thrown off my workouts thanks to some injuries (back, then shoulder, then back again).

For the workouts, I'm working my way back into it.  I started Monday at ten pushups, adding 2 a day through Saturday.  I figure if I use Sundays to recover, do the same number on Mondays as the Saturday before, and add 1 a day Tuesday through Saturday, that's increasing by 5 a week.  At that pace, as long as no other wrenches get thrown into the works, I'll hit 100 by late June.  Talk about an early 40th birthday present to myself, a new body!  I'm also regularly using the pull up bar again, although I won't confess publicly how many (or how few) I can do right now.  For legs, I'm getting creative and doing squats while carrying the boys or lunges while finally cleaning up the cut up wood around the yard from Sandy.  I wouldn't know for sure what muscles that worked if not for the soreness I felt today after doing that yesterday.  Seems to work the whole leg, which works for me.  So it's yard work for me every day for March.  And as much as I hate the idea of overdoing it because I fear weight loss, I definitely need some morning cardio just to loosen up at my age.

Since it's Lent, I want to include some spiritual resolutions.  I'm still renewing my annual Total Consecration based on St. Louis due Montfort's formula.  My date is March 25, the feast of the Annunciation, as well as the date my Dad became a Catholic in 1989 and the date I met Judy in 2006.  Pretty significant date for me.  I also want to do the Stations of the Cross at least once a week, and the Holy Face devotion I learned back in my days at St. William the Abbott parish, which the group there usually did once a month.  It's an hour of reparation time, and there's a lot in this world and in my own life that needs reparation.

February 17th, Judy and I celebrated six years as husband and wife.  I was scheduled to sing a Mass at 4 that evening, followed by a stop at Jared's to pick up her present, which she didn't know was ready yet.  Her original ring didn't fit her finger anymore, and she's felt kind of naked without it, so I got her a new wedding ring.  Judy got me a Groupon for some recording time, which I've been dying to do and just can't spring for all the equipment right now.  I may have an EP ready depending on how well prepared I am.  After that, we hit the Brick House Tavern in South Plainfield for dinner.  The food was great, and they had an amazing stout that was perfect on a cold winter's night.  I would recommend that place in a heartbeat.  Our waitress was very knowledgeable, including making sure Judy's dietary needs (gluten intolerance) were met.  My recommendation though, if you go, go HUNGRY!  Maybe fast all day if you're going for dinner and do an intense workout right before you head out.  They do NOT do small portions.

One more March resolution, start a section in my blog that covers cooking and post at least one recipe.  I do a fair amount of improvising, and in my married years I've become a pretty good cook.  It's also a good opportunity to show we househusbands work plenty hard taking care of our wives and kids.  It's also a good way to remind myself how far I've come from the days of doing eggs, pancakes, burgers...and burgers with a fried egg on top, which I admit I still crave once in a while.  I still have yet to master a vegetable dish that everybody loves.  I love my meat and potatoes as much as anyone, but can we get some colorful goodness and make it a balanced meal please?

Well, that's February's results and March's plans in a nutshell.  Here's to a fruitful rest of Lent and a great month!

I Have Failed

Today is the last day before Lent, Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday.  In modern times, it has come to mean that last day of indulging before the fasting of Ash Wednesday, a day to overdo it before that period of self-denial that, let's be honest, is a lot less strict that it used to be.  It is also a day for many to decide what they are "giving up" for Lent.  But these practices were not always so.

Back when Lent was a lot more stringent in its guidelines, Catholics were required to give up meat for the entire period.  Since lard and other animal fats were commonly used in cooking, there was the desire not to be wasteful, so what was on hand was to be used up before Lent began (thus the "fat" in Fat Tuesday) in order not to have it go bad before Easter.  Talk about a true, "farewell to the flesh," which is the basic meaning of "Carnival."  Now, we're limited to Ash Wednesday and the Fridays of Lent and Holy Week for our meatless requirements, although all Fridays are technically still a requirement unless some other form of penance is done on non-Lenten Fridays, but my generation and the one after were not very well catechized on that.

Tomorrow, Catholics will go en masse to Mass and get the burnt remains of last year's palms smeared on their foreheads as a show of their religiosity, with it being impossible to determine who the regular churchgoers and the occasional ones are.  Every Catholic is religious on Ash Wednesday.  Palm Sunday, Christmas and Easter are also popular ones.  But the ashes are not meant to be a sign of how great and faithful we are, but as a sign of our failure.  We are a sinful people; I am a sinful man.  We need to be reminded of how we have failed, so we can get up and try again, recognizing our total dependence on God and how any good we do comes from Him.

This is where giving up something can be a useful practice.  The best things to give up are the things that distract us the most from God, fostering a spirit of detachment.  If it's something that we can't have in our lives without it being a distraction, perhaps it's something we should do without even after Lent.  But even things that are not sinful, but are enjoyable, can be good to give up.  There is more to it though.  If someone gives up chocolate for Lent, but then eats so much on Easter Sunday that he's throwing up, there's definitely been a lesson missed.  Beyond giving something up, taking something on can be a good practice, whether it's a new devotion, taking more time for prayer or Scripture reading, getting to weekday Mass or giving more of one's time, talent and/or treasure for charity.  Instead of just giving something up, take something on in its place.

Confession is probably the most underused, underrated part of Catholic life today.  Most parishes still offer regular Saturday Confessions.  Get in, and if you haven't been in for a while, tell the priest that at the beginning.  I've met many a priest who has said there are few things they are happier to hear than, "It's been x years since my last Confession."  It's like weeding the garden.  The more often you go, the less you'll need to confess, and the greater accountability can help keep some of those spiritual weeds from growing back.  Before I was born, but from what I heard from my mom when she was still alive, there was a time when Confession lines were longer and Communion lines shorter.  Catholics knew more about mortal sin and were more discerning about not receiving in a state of mortal sin.  It couldn't hurt to get back to that as a regular thing.  I was once told Confession was like breathing.  The human body can breathe once every three minutes and still maintain the bare essential functions to stay alive.  To be in overall good health, however, requires more breathing than that.  Catholics are required to go to Confession at least once a year, but more frequently, monthly for example, is recommended.

Back to Mass...well, that's actually the point I was making.  I'm willing to bet that although this is not true of all Catholics who only show up a few times a year, there may be a good number out there who haven't started coming regularly on Sundays because nobody has invited them.  I will confess that although I talk about the A&P and CAPE phenomenon and joke about the complaints of parishioners who are sick of only hearing "Silent Night" or "Jesus Christ Is Risen Today," I can't recall ever reaching out to those groups and inviting them to come back on Sundays.  The real gift, the Eucharist is there, Jesus Christ, present in Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity.  If the palms and the ashes really mattered, they'd give out palms at the end of every Sunday Mass and ask us to bring them back on Saturday to have Ashes at the beginning of Mass.  Our Lord gives Himself to us sinful, unworthy people to make us worthy.  If you haven't been in a while, I hope you'll be there not just tomorrow, but four days after that as well, and I owe you an apology if I haven't extended that invitation.  I hope to see you there!

What Credibility Does Anyone Have?

I've been thinking about this a long time, and it seems whenever I do, something new happens that just increases it.  As a culture, we seem to enjoy smugly holding up people's past mistakes as reason to tell them they have no credibility, sometimes on completely unrelated issues.  The message, you did something bad, so you have a duty to keep your mouth shut and go along with everything you see, even if you think it's wrong.

The most blatant example of this is most obviously in attacks against the Church.  People claim left and right that the Catholic Church is this judgmental institution labeled as everything from homophobic (which as a relative of people with REAL phobias I find truly insensitive to their plight) to an unscriptural whore of Babylon (ironic that we're called unscriptural when it was the Catholic Church that assembled the books that now make up the Bible).  To bring down this judgmental institution, they love to bring up our past faults, completely blind to their own judgmental finger pointing.  If I had a penny for every time I heard the Church had no right to speak out on issues like abortion because of the sex abuse scandal, a tithe from me would probably fund my parish's entire operational budget.  But is it the sex abuse scandal, the abuse of children that truly concerns these people?  Is what they're saying that the Church has no credibility because of abuse of children, but that we'll somehow gain credibility by being silent on the daily slaughter of thousands of children daily?  Or do they just simply hate the Catholic Church's teachings?  If so, they should be delighted whenever there is scandal within the Church, as every scandal throughout our 2,000 year history has come not when we lived up to Catholic teaching, but when we fell short of it.  I know this is true of myself.  I'm not embarrassed over the rare occasions that I've managed to let go, let God and live up to my beliefs as a result.  Now the times I've messed up, the times I've failed, yes, the times I have greatly sinned, those make for some embarrassing, horrifying, heartbreaking and disgusting stories.

This judgmental attitude is of course not only directed at the Church from outside, but also from within the Church at non-Catholics and fellow Catholics alike.  One of the people I follow on Facebook is Abby Johnson, who, for those who don't know, is a former director of a Planned Parenthood facility.  One day, by the grace of God, she walked away from it, unable to continue on with what she was doing.  God had reached in, changed her heart, and has now made her one of the more outspoken voices in defense of the unborn.  She runs a ministry called, "Then There Were None," which helps people who are leaving the abortion industry to find work.  I never met her, but her story inspires me as a true example of God's mercy and His ability to bring about change within people's hearts.  When I read recently on her wall that there were people claiming to be Christians saying that abortionists and women who had abortions deserved the same fate as their victims, I was filled with a mix of emotions - annoyance, rage, pity, sadness - that after two millennia, we still don't get it.  I mean, who among us has not sinned?  Who among us truly deserves to walk this earth with its abundant beauty and natural treasures?  Who really has the right to cast the first stone.  Yes, we are called to make a proper judgment of actions, but we are not called to judge the state of a person's soul, as only God knows.  Our actions can be disgusting, but our deep down, intrinsic, unchangeable value as children of God never goes away.  I was once told the Church has the best self esteem program around that could be summed up in a couple sentences.  You are a child of God.  There is nothing so good you could ever do to deserve it, and nothing so evil you could ever do to change it.  Imagine for a moment if we separated the sin from the sinner, and instead of saying, "That person is scum because [insert sin here]," we shouted in alarm, "That child of God is poisoning his/her soul with [insert sin here]!  Warn that person and offer prayers for his/her conversion!"

This thinking that has been swirling around in my head was solidified yesterday at Mass as I was listening to the readings.  The first reading has Isaiah standing before the very presence and glory of God, and realizing his sinful state, he laments, "Woe is me!  For I am a man of unclean lips!"  When his lips are made clean, not by his own efforts, but by the grace of God, represented by an ember, God asks, "Whom shall I send?"  Isaiah responds, "Here I am.  Send me."  By today's finger pointing, I suppose we should say of Isaiah, whose book is one of the longest in the Bible, "What place does he have saying so much, that man of unclean lips?  He should just shut up instead of prophesying like he does."  The second reading has Paul talking about the commission given to the Apostles, and he mentions his own unworthiness.  This is fitting, as before he became a Christian, he persecuted and was responsible for the jailing and killing of many believers.  What credibility did he have?  Maybe he deserved the same fate as he gave to so many other Christians.  In the Gospel, Jesus begins calling men to be his Apostles, and asks Simon, son of John, to cast his nets out for a catch.  Simon, who has been at it all day, says he hasn't caught a thing all day, but does as Jesus says.  After catching a major haul, he begs Jesus, "Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man."  Even after he joins Jesus, he says and does a number of stupid things, always putting his foot in his mouth, recklessly rushing with a single sword to try to fight off the crowd that has come to arrest Jesus, and finally denying Him three times that same day.  This is Peter?  Cephas?  The rock on whom Jesus builds His Church?  But surely he lost that station when he denied Christ three times, as I've seen claimed by some fundamentalists, right?  Some even claim the first "papal encyclical" was, "I don't know him!  I don't know him!  I don't know him!"  But read on, because it appears they missed something.  After the Resurrection, what was it that Peter said, not on his own, but with Jesus' prompting?  "I love You.  I love You.  I love You."  After each time, Jesus gives him a command, a responsibility to carry out, a commission that on one hand could be looked at as authority, or on the other as a duty to serve...or perhaps both.

The point is we're not doomed once we sin and fall short of the goal.  We have to get up and try again.  We're also not absolved from speaking out against immorality, injustice and sin in general just because of our own sins.  In fact, it is often the most sinful God calls to be the greatest saints.  Peter, Paul, Augustine, Francis, Mary Magdalene, and a host of others.  The Church is not some social club for those who have reached perfection and can now suddenly join now that they are pure.  The Church is a refinery, where people are in the process of being purified of their sins, and living in New Jersey and having driven through industrial areas in places like Newark, I know what refineries can smell like.  There must be the constant reminder that those who may appear better or worse than we are also have to go through that purification.  I sometimes get a spiritual inferiority complex when I'm around other people at Church, or wonder, "What if they saw my soul and my sins?  What would they think?"  That thinking is actually just as judgmental as considering myself better than others because I might not have some of the sins they have.  Considering the fact that in some ways it doesn't give credit where credit is truly due, it could even be considered idolatrous.  After all, if they have fewer sins and are more advanced in virtue than I, isn't it by the grace of the same God I turn to in order to overcome my own sins and advance in virtue?  And if they happen to see where I've fallen short, I pray they'll have the courage to call me on it.

One final thought that might not be a popular reminder, but it has to be said anyway.  At a time when "the 1%" are demonized in the media, they too are children of God.  Jesus had something to say about the 99 and the 1, and we would do well to heed it, for He would leave the 99 to bring back the 1 lost sheep.  And when that lost one is brought back, there is more rejoicing than over those who had no need of repentance.  I've had many times when I've gotten lost, and Jesus has brought me back every time.  Though I don't deserve it, Heaven rejoices over the likes of me.  I am a repentant sinner.  I am the 1%.

I Really Don't Follow the Groundhog

OK, so I'm a day late, really two days, as I should have had my February resolutions ready to go by January 31, so I could have actually started them on the 1st.  Not a good way to start the shortest month of the year, but first a recap of January.

I completed three out of the five January resolutions.  The two incomplete ones were christening the brew kit and finishing the book I got for Christmas on how to brew.  My other three were done, as well as being mostly faithful to the Fab Abs workout.  I had a couple times when I was injured, and I thought it wise to take a couple days to recover and get back to it.  Still, I reached the point of being able to do 30 push-ups and plank for over two minutes, as well as getting up to 75 crunches (sit ups are too much on the back right now).  Not a 100% success, but nowhere near as much a failure as if I hadn't tried at all.  Time to step it up.

Fitness goal, 90 crunches, 40 push-ups, three minute plank.  I'm going to create my own schedule to get there.  In addition, my February focus is to find a good leg workout, hopefully one that can add both strength and size.  I've complained about my legs most of my life, and for a few years I was actually self-conscious about wearing shorts.  I kind of still am, but no longer to the point where I won't wear them.  It's the truth that I stand on a pair of long, skinny legs, and I wouldn't mind having the problem of having to get a couple new pairs of pants because my old ones just can't accommodate the extra circumference of my newly bulked tree trunks.  But seriously, if I can find a workout this month that, faithfully employed, adds an inch or two around for the year, I'm a happy man.  I don't have machines, a barbell or a budget to get either, so I may need to get creative.  I have bands, and I think they can be incorporated.  The point is to get started doing it until it becomes a regular routine, no complaining, just doing.  Oh, and if anyone knows of any workouts good for building leg strength and mass, feel free to share them.  Even if I have a good routine by the time you share it, I can always tweak the existing one.

Enough waiting on the brewing.  I want it done this week.  The one Judy got me with the kit is a dark brown ale, and after brew day is a two week fermentation period, then another two weeks after bottling, and it looks like that brew is good for cold weather.  As for the book, I need to get a little cooperation from life on giving me some reading time.  So no more crises that involve anything that can't be handled without me.

Musical goal remains the same, one song written, start to finish.  If I finish one that I already had the idea for, that doesn't count.  I've had an idea for a musical, or maybe a concept album, still undecided, and decided yesterday to start working on the Intro/Overture.  A prog rock song in the shortest month?  What am I thinking?  Ever since I performed Felix Mendelssohn's "Elijah" with the Catholic University chorus in the spring of 1993, I was intrigued by the idea of an intro with singing before the overture.  It seemed to break the rigid musical rules we were told to obey, only to break them elsewhere, and so the rebellious side of me embraced that.  So my second musical...or first concept album...will have an intro before the overture, unlike "Chrysalis," which has no overture at all.  I have a couple other musical ideas long buried in my head digging their way out of the grave like zombies, except instead of craving brains, they crave completion, performance and recording.  I suppose a zombie wouldn't have the capacity to say that, though, so these undead song ideas are probably a little smarter.  I mean, how many zombies do you know that understand anything about 7/8 time?

I think those are reasonable expectations for February.  It's enough to keep me busy, but not so much that I'm sabotaging myself.  Here's hoping and praying I improve on January's results.  I didn't win the race to keep those resolutions, but I got out on the track and ran it.  Maybe that's the most important part of all this.  God knows we're imperfect, but still expects us to try, continuing to get up and keep going when we fall.  I don't know if the groundhog saw his shadow, but I say a new springtime is beginning to bud in me.  I can't wait to see what grows.

I Wanna Live!

So after disappearing from social networks for a few days, I wanted to share some of the things I learned.  Not all of them are directly related to abortion, which was the reason I asked friends to consider the world if I hadn't been born.  Not all of it was related to what difference it would have made if I hadn't been born.  Yet all of it was significant in some way, and I don't think I could've discovered it playing on Facebook and Twitter.

Any year before now, I couldn't have possibly asked friends and family to imagine a world without me.  The reason, up until recently, I'm not so sure I really, honestly saw value in myself.  I certainly can't say I pictured Wantagh, Berkeley Heights or South Plainfield becoming Pottersville in a timeline without my existence, but I'd probably say more people have been affected positively than negatively from knowing me, and that might be a breakthrough for me.  No wonder the musical creative juices have been flowing.  It wouldn't be bubbling up with ideas if I didn't believe there was something worthwhile in the measures I've composed, and I'm very impatient to record it.  I'm very uncomfortable with the concept of not existing, and to tie it in with the whole reason I asked others to picture life without me, not one child conceived yet waiting to be born deserves not to have that same chance I had.  It will take more than laws, but that's part of it.  It will take more than people offering alternatives, but that's part of it.  It will take more than people in the industry saying, "I can't do this anymore," but that's part of it.

I learned I spend too much time Facebooking and Tweeting.  It has its purposes, but I should cut down.  In a way consistent with the mentality I've had since the Christmas season ended and the altars at churches were comparatively stripped down, back to basics.  I learned I can get a heck of a lot of housework done when I'm not sharing a meme or reading the umpteenth article about why one party is good and the other party is bad and you're stupid if you don't agree.  I can also pray all twenty decades of the Rosary between loads of dishes and laundry, and that's more likely to bring about miracles than even the most brilliant meme generators out there.

I learned, while following my workout routine, that I can now do thirty pushups.  That's probably not a lot by any stretch of the imagination, but it's more than I could ever do before.  To say at 39 that I can do more pushups now than when I was 20 is another way of saying the best is ahead.  It's also a great feeling to have my wife put her hand on my arm, do a double take, squeeze my arm and give a look that says, "Wow!"  I don't take any performance enhancers, but I think my ego got put on steroids after that.

I learned that in a two year old's mind, simply occupying space can be considered a high crime, punishable by shoving and an occasional head-butt.  In addition, a four year old Aspie child's sense of morality is far superior to almost anyone out there.  How many kids or even adults would respond to fairly regular torment by screaming out loud about said tormentor, "I love him so much!!!"  Yep, my boy is getting started early on storing up heavenly treasure, fighting meanness with love.  I could learn something from that.

I don't know if disappearing for a few days got anyone else to stop and think, but it got me to, and maybe that was the whole reason God let me run with that idea, that while urging others to find worth in all life, I could find it in my own.  To all who followed this little exercise, I hope you know what you're worth.  Whether you're family of mine, friends, people I've never met in person but who are Facebook friends or Twitter followers, someone browsing the blogosphere or an agent from Homeland Security spying on this devout Catholic, pro-life, Tenther, traditional marriage advocating guy, I hope you know how much you're worth in God's eyes.  I hope you find that value in yourself, and then don't forget to see it in all others, born and unborn.

And with that said, Clarence, I wanna live again!

It Could Have Been a Wonderful Life

The year 2013 will be a milestone year for me, as I will be turning 40 this August.  There have been a lot of good days, bad days, great days and awful days for a nice mix that I think I can look back on and say it's always been interesting, and I pray there's a lot more to come.  But what if there's not?  As a matter of fact, what if I never had these forty years?

For those who have not seen, "It's a Wonderful Life," the main character, George Bailey, gets to see what life would have been like, how the world would have been, if he had never been born.  It's not a pretty picture, as all the people he helped, and in some cases whose lives he saved, never had the benefit of having George Bailey in their lives.

Something else will hit the 40 year milestone this year, the Roe vs. Wade Supreme Court decision that overturned all state laws regarding abortion and claimed it was legal in all 50 states.  Norma McCorvey, the plaintiff in that case, later had a change of heart, and is among many trying to overturn the case that has devastated our land.  Over 55 million children, through surgical and chemical means, have been denied the most fundamental right, life, from which all other rights flow.  In terms of sheer numbers, we have outdone Hitler's concentration camps and Stalin's Siberian camps combined.

Each year, as the anniversary of Roe vs. Wade approaches, the fact that my birth year is soiled by this decision both saddens and enrages me more.  The fact that I will be 40 this year, while several hundred thousand who should be blowing out the same number of candles this year cannot, and while thousands more die daily, a numerical Sandy Hook every couple minutes, is unacceptable to me.  There are times I want to cry out to God, "Take me, and let them live.  I'm worth no more than they are."

I don't think God is going to oblige me on that intention.  Maybe He knows I need a lot more purification before taking me home.  But it got me thinking, what if I never had been born?  Three other children by extension never would have existed, as I was never around to conceive them.  Any family and friends, strangers who benefitted from a good deed I may have done, those interactions, lessons learned, good times had, love given, they all would have never occurred.  Maybe it's time to try that, never having been born.  Take the day, January 22 of each year to express solidarity with those who never had a birthday.  Make your absence known in some way.  Personally, I'm starting small.  I'll be disappearing from Facebook and Twitter from January 22-25 (the date of the March for Life).  If other people got involved and did it for a week, it could almost be a pro-life version of "going Galt."  Imagine contributing nothing on behalf of those never given the opportunity to contribute.

I had a lot of concern going public with this, as I know many of my friends and family disagree with me on the abortion issue.  I may get unfriended in some cases, especially in the cases of friends who may have had abortions or possibly worked in the abortion industry or simply are offended.  That's a risk I feel is worth it if getting the message out saves one life.  To those who might unfriend me, know that I love you, and I'm not looking to judge any person, but rather an action, which is completely different.  There's nobody alive who can say, "I'm not a sinner," without lying.  If you've had an abortion, performed abortions, contributed financially to fund abortions, God is waiting for you.  He is waiting to pour out His mercy on you, and embrace you, and say, "Welcome home, beloved child!"  Even if you shut me out, let Him in.

I've said my part in these last few minutes before I change the timeline.  I am not Benjamin Mankowski.  I was never born.

Am I Sure? Only If I'm Positive

I started off this year with the determination that if I planned to make any progress spiritually, personally, musically or politically, I needed to forget about New Year's resolutions, except for one, to come up with manageable "New Month" resolutions throughout the year.  I don't want to discuss them publicly, as I feel they should be between myself, my wife and my Lord.  However, I will say I have come up with five.

I have completed one, which I feel okay sharing, probably because I've completed it and can feel good talking about it.  I finished a song, technically two, as I had started on one in December.  One was a Christmas song, the other an anthem for liberty.  No sooner do I manage this than my guitar student's dad tells me he got recording equipment for Christmas, and to feel free to come use it to lay down some tracks.  I have a feeling that's going to work its way into New Month resolutions in the coming months, but I must fight my severe ADHD and stick to the month at hand.  Still, this is good, as with age 40 looming in seven months, I've been feeling severely under accomplished and negative.  The remedy?  Shut up, stop complaining, define some concrete goals and get my butt to work on them.  Seeing a friend's blog talk about posting a video of one song a week, coupled with this January goal, got me thinking writing one song a month would be a good goal for me, so thanks, Carl.

As for my other January resolutions, I have started on the other four.  One will probably take a day, and I can do that next week.  Another will simply take some asking around, and given my shyness when asking for help, actively asking for information will help me attack what has always been a major contributor to a lot of my troubles.  The other two, well they require setting aside some quiet time, another one of my weak points, especially with the combination of teens and toddlers under our roof.  Still, all doable if I stay dedicated and positive.

I have some other things that, while not originally part of the plan, when I came across them, my thought was, "That's probably a good idea too."  One involves the need to figure out how to work around being a nighttime employee, because my work with the New Jersey Tenth Amendment Center has suddenly yielded unexpected attention.  I've had different groups asking, whether definitely or tentatively, if I can give a presentation on nullification and interposition.  I'm assuming at least some of them will want me to do it on a weeknight.  In addition to figuring out scheduling, I suppose I need to address my dread fear of public speaking.  To give an idea how bad it is, at last year's Nullify Now event in Philadelphia, and at a town hall meeting Governor Christie gave in my town, I was hyperventilating and dizzy after participating in their Q&A sessions.  The other, I found out about the Fab Abs workout, and decided to give it a try.  It mainly focuses on building core strength, which has not been one of my strong points.  The first week seems easy, while the second week is pushing me.  I look at the end of the month and wonder what I got myself into.  But I don't plan on assuming I can't do it.  If I find out I can't, it will be because I threw myself into it and just wasn't at that level...yet.  I figure future months I can stick to maintenance when I get my core strength up and focus on jump starting building legs or arms.  In the meantime, I've had a lot less back pain, so I must be doing something right.

So often, I've looked at life in terms of whats I've missed and why.  The answer finally came; I've spent most of my almost 40 years watching life happen, and I've been afraid to take on challenges because I've doubted myself too much.  That kind of thinking has made me internally old before my time, and I need to spend my coming days getting younger.  No more watching life happen.  It's time for me to get out there and make it happen!  If I expect God to guide my footsteps, I think it's fair to say He's going to expect me to get up and get walking.